Crushed

My thoughts are a maelstrom, a cacophony,

Crashing, shrieking,

Half longing, half caution.

Should I let myself sink into the caressing depths

Or fight to the lung-stinging surface?

My base animal is out for blood

But my saccharine breath pleads for a haven.

I have little hope that either will be satisfied.

I am a fool without wisdom,

Feeding on borrowed wit.

Your voice echoes off my skull.

Your eyes are plastered onto mine.

I can’t tell whether I want them there

Or whether you want my voice, my eyes.

Probably not.